The berries on the elder are ripe, falling and staining both city streets and country fields alike with their purple-black juice; the last tomatoes are ripening while the plants let their leaves die off, putting all their energies into their final fruit. Dahlias and sedum – and Michaelmas daisies – flower in borders where half the pleasure comes from the russet and brown of decay. There are more hours of darkness than of light. ‘That strain again! It had a dying fall.’

Today, September 29, is Michaelmas, the Feast of St Michael and All Angels. Coming shortly after the autumn equinox, it is one of the quarter days inherited from the Middle Ages, dates which long ordered life. Lady Day in March, the Feast of the Annunciation, is gone from our cultural world, while Midsummer Day and Christmas Day are with us still.

Traditions do not preserve themselves

Traditions do not preserve themselves

Tradition said Michaelmas was when the Archangel Michael cast Satan down from Heaven, the fallen angel landing arse-first in a blackberry bush. Past Michaelmas, it was considered bad luck to eat them – an injunction which, unlike Leviticus on pork and lobster, costs the observant nothing: by now most berries have lost their allure.

Rents fell due on quarter days, and........

© The Spectator